by Sadie Swift
There were many questions that needed answering, not least of which being why was all this happening to me, and why was Sir Percival having such rotten romantic luck with his fellow men?
Six
Francesco kept her eyes on the rescued girl all the way to someplace I hadn’t the foggiest idea where. She did though have the good grace to look abashed at what she’d put myself and Sir Percival through. I wasn’t too sure how he’d cope at discovering quite by accident that the handsome, well-muscled gondolier that he’d had intentions on was actually female. The poor chap probably needed pepping up, but I’d destroyed all of his stock of Cossack Horserider Weekly after that debacle we had with the Russian royal family. Perhaps, with the Ancient Romans being known for toga-wearing, some like-minded, enterprising fellow had come up with Toga Appreciation Weekly, or some such form of literature Sir Percival would be more amenable to? Those damned Russians had a lot to answer for!
“Would I be correct in assuming your name isn’t ‘Francesco’?” I whisper up at our Gondolier.
“It’s Francesca,” she whispers back.
Ah. Francesco, Francesca. It makes sense now.
Overlooked by the ubiquitous three-storey buildings, we come into dock next to some other Gondolas, which are thankfully empty or we’d probably have to answer some very pointed questions.
Francesca quickly ties up and then hefts the young lady into her arms. “Follow me,” she says.
Sir Percival cast a ‘Do we have to?’ glance at me, and I mentally assured him that ‘Yes, we do’, if only to answer just what the devil was going on.
Lithely Francesca hops off the boat and onto the narrow dock. With much less grace I follow and make sure Sir Percival is behind me as she confidently strides up to an anonymous pale green door and raps on the wood.
The door opens revealing only darkness and then a female voice cries out in shock. Francesca hustles in speaking very fast Italian at whoever had opened the door. I shared a glance with Sir Percival wondering if we should just make a polite exit before a hand quickly beckons us in.
Seven
I grab hold of Sir Percival’s arm before he can make a getaway and hustle him into the dwelling. A tall handsome lady in a blue dress glances past us outside before closing the door.
To our left the dripping wet Francesca, her hat beside her, has laid the rescued girl down upon a couch and is kneeling on a rug before her, patting her hand and appears to be entreating her to wake up.
Behind us is the unmistakeable sound of bolts running home. I quickly turn round ready to ask what the devil is going on when the tall lady turns back to us and is struck dumb by the sight of my hair.
I’m beginning to get a bit sick of all the attention my hair hue is getting so decide to take action and ask, “What is going on?”
Her eyes (a rather nice shade of brown, to go with her dark hair) flick between mine and the back of Francesca’s head. I get the feeling she’s looking for some assistance, but it’s not forthcoming.
She heaves a sigh, and I can’t help noticing the rather nice figure she cuts in her blue dress.
“Thank you,” she begins in a pleasant, only slightly accented voice. “After what has been going on I wasn’t sure that I’d see Lucia again.”
“Exactly what has been going on?”
Francesca’s voice behind me says, “Young girls going missing, only to be found floating in the lagoon days later.”
I turn to her and see she’s still holding the girl’s hand but looking up at me.
“Surely that’s a case for your Peelers?”
“Peelers?”
“Police? People paid to uphold the law?”
“We tried,” the lady says, “But we’re always met with indifference.”
A thought occurs to me and I look back down at Francesca, “Why did you want Sir Percival and myself? You made very sure to get our custom?”
“We believe–”
“No!” the lady interrupts, and fires fierce, quick Italian at her rather like bullets from Mr Gatling’s gun.
Francesca seems to take offence at this and an intense conversation with lots of hand waving ensues, the gist of which I have no idea.
While they’re busy I glance at Sir Percival to see how he’s taking the situation. I should have guessed that in a room full of women he’d be looking at the walls. Now we’re out of danger I begin to take in the room and its contents as well. There are some exquisite pieces of pottery and items made from glass. But Sir Percival’s attention seems to be rather caught by a piece of brown, palm-sized parchment that has been framed and set in pride of place on a wall. He catches me looking at him and beckons me over with his hairy head.
“Do you know where we are?” he unnecessarily whispers under the sounds of increasingly vehement Italian.
“No,” I whisper back. “Do you?”
“This is a rather telling piece,” he replies, indicating the parchment.
“Really?” I glance at it hoping it will inform me more of just what the devil is going on than the voices behind me. But the fading black calligraphy (that I can but guess is Italian) doesn’t. “I seem to have rather neglected my Italian studies, Sir Percival. Would you be so kind?”
“One of the more notable inhabitants of Venice was a chap by the name of Casanova.”
In what I’ve learnt is a form of encouragement, his hairy eyebrows lift up his forehead, rather like hay bales up into a barn loft.
“Casanova?”
“Indeed.”
“The Casanova?”
“Yes.”
“The man who had… relations with rather a lot of women?”
“Well, yes,” he said, with a slight moue of distaste on his face, possibly mirroring my own.
“And?”
“Well, if this is real, then this house and occupants are related to him.”
I glance around the room we’re in, taking in the walls, furniture, statues, and whatnot. “And?”
From behind us came the word, “Blackmail.”
Unnoticed by myself or Sir Percival the intense dialogue had ceased. Francesca and lady in the blue dress were regarding us, but with a tad more behind it. Like they were appraising us for some reason.
“Oh?” I encourage.
“We are of the house of Casanova,” the blue dress lady says. “The other kidnapped and murdered girls were from other houses–”
“Marco Polo, Bellini, Cabot, Vivaldi,” Francesca interrupts.
Some of those names are known to me, but something still confuses me. “But if the girls were all from such famous families why aren’t your police doing anything?”
The two women look at each other as if deciding whether to inform us or not.
To one side the girl on the couch groans and the lady in the blue dress turns and rushes to see to her.
Possibly wanting to let the lady help Lucia in peace Francesca beckons Sir Percival and myself to accompany her through a doorway into another room.
Probably not wanting to be left alone with a swooning female Sir Percival quickly heads through the doorway. With an inward sigh I follow, knowing that if I didn’t he would just come back and drag me in with him.
Now I know the gondolier is of the female sex and has some of the infamous Casanova blood running through her veins I’m beginning to see her in quite a different light. She did pole the Gondola rather deftly through the canals with both myself and Sir Percival weighing it down. She didn’t shy away from diving into the canal to rescue Lucia, and she did carry off daring to dress as a man. A most intriguing girl. I wonder which way she liked her crumpet buttered.
Eight
The room we’re now in is far more elaborately decorated, with even more delightful statues and elegant glass creations. If Sir Percival hadn’t have given some proof that this was the house of Casanova then this would be the room that sealed the deal.
“Tea?” Francesca asks with a questioning eyebrow.
“Answers,”
I quickly jump in before Sir Percival can enquire which blends are available.
“Your hair? Has it always been pink?”
What the devil is it about my hair? I open my mouth to quickly retort, but get a feeling from the look in her eye that the question is more than just cosmetic, so calm myself down and counter with, “Why do you enquire?”
“A story, little more than a rumour, has come to my attention.”
She pauses, waiting for a response, but she’s going to have to give me much more than that for me to give an answer. I raise a questioning eyebrow at her.
“Someone you cared about deeply was killed by the Men of the Cog.”
My blood freezes in my veins. How did she know that? And what does she want to gain by it? My jaw tightens with anger, my eyes blaze with fire, I hiss, “Talk now, or face the consequences.” My hand tightly grips my umbrella.
“So it is true?”
I take a threatening step towards her, already imagining my hands around her throat.
Startled at my vehemence she steps back. “Because I believe they’re behind the kidnaps and murder!” she says quickly.
I feel a hand upon my arm and look down. Sir Percival’s hairy hand holds me back. “Miss Lovelady?” he says quietly.
I know more than anyone what it took him to touch me. My body shakes from the adrenalin surging through my bloodstream. I take a deep breath and look into his eyes.
“I believe her.”
“Why?”
“Before the Department decided to make use of my aether knowledge I took the Grand Tour. Whilst travelling through Germany I met up with a fellow tourist called Rupert. We… shared many intimacies about ourselves. I felt so free and gay. But, here in Venice, we parted ways. He fell in with a crowd that I felt had taken aetheric experimentation down dangerous paths. Yes, it was exciting pushing back the frontiers of knowledge but the cost… was far too high.”
He quietens and looks down at the stone floor.
“As I found out, the cost was Rupert’s life.” His pained eyes look up into mine. “This lady is living through what I overheard in one of their planning meetings. Kidnap, blackmail, murder. All to raise funds for their evil intentions.”
My heart went out to him. He knows I’d compassionately hug him but we both know he’d much rather I didn’t.
I turn back to Francesca. Our eyes meet.
“I’m sorry to hear that the rumours were true.”
“Thank you.” Time has blurred some of the emotions I feel at the loss of Katherine, but I feel that there’ll always be a void that she’s meant to fill. The strange dream I had of her notwithstanding.
“What was his name?” she asks gently.
My thoughts screech to a halt. “Her name was Katherine,” I say, frost forming on each word.
This brings her up short.
A few moments pass as I can tell she’s processing the information then her hands reach and hold mine. Their warmth loosens my grip upon the umbrella. “Love is a wonderful thing. I’m glad you found each other. And so sorry that it was cut short.”
Voices from the other room reach us and she smiles.
“It sounds like Lucia has woken. Shall we see if she has any information to help us?”
Sir Percival takes this as a cue to hurry from the room so he doesn’t get too caught up with female emotions.
But Francesca continues to hold my hands and look into my eyes. “If there’s anything I can do to help?”
I do believe my crumpet query has been answered.
Nine
“Francesca!” the lady in the blue dress calls out from the other room.
“Coming!” Francesca replies, adding, “Come,” to me, letting go of my umbrella hand and tugging me with her right hand to follow her.
The air feels cold on my fingers now her warm hand is gone.
I follow her through the doorway and see Sir Percival standing to one side against the wall, away from Lucia and the blue dress lady.
Francesca gives me a quick smile and lets my hand go so she can go to crouch next to Lucia. I head towards Sir Percival, knowing he needs some support in a room full of women.
Quiet words are spoken by Francesca and the lady in the blue dress, with Lucia’s halting answers to them. A thought comes to me and I whisper to Sir Percival, “Were any of those buildings near the fog known to you from before?”
“I don’t know. I was mainly inside the buildings. What they looked like from the outside?” he shrugs.
Hasty whispers between Francesca and the blue-dress lady ensue. While they do that Lucia peers over at us, her blue eyes naturally caught by my pink hair. Her fingers flutter weakly at us and I smile and give a gentle wave back.
A meaningful look passes from the blue-dress lady to Francesca. Something seems to have been decided and Francesca gets up and walks over to us.
“She is very weak from what she’s been through. Our mother will take care of her.”
“How was she able to escape?” I ask.
She looks at me, “We of this house have inherited a certain… way with those of the opposite sex.”
And those of the same sex? My mind can’t help asking.
“She managed to overhear that tonight the Men of the Cog are completing their take-over of the Venice Preservation Society. Our mother will spread the word to our compatriots and tonight we shall put an end to this horror.”
Tonight?
I look at Sir Percival. We are due to leave in a few hours. And if we were to be of any use with weaponry and suchlike then it’s all packed away aboard the airship. I look back towards Francesca and apologetically say, “I… I’m not sure how we can help you as we’re due to leave in a few hours.”
“If your flight were to be delayed would you help us?”
“Well, yes. Sir Percival?” I turn to him.
He answers with a curt nod. Perhaps thinking of avenging the death of his Rupert?
Francesca smiles, “Then I shall see what I can do.”
What the devil does she mean by that?
Ten
Now in a dry set of gondolier’s clothing, with a new large bushy moustache, a newly brown face, and a suspicious bag at her feet, Francesca rows us up to the airship dock. I’d never known any female with so many male clothes (which she used to help her get around Venice without comment), or with quite so many moustaches in her closet before. It was quite unnerving seeing all the different sorts she had all lined up, rather like a malacologist’s overly hairy slug collection.
As with her physical disguise, her male persona was back in force, with all the guttural heavily accented words at her disposal.
We docked and she went to help Sir Percival off first but he made sure to alight without her help. She took no offense as I’d quietly informed her of his proclivities when she invited me to view her dressing room. I did though get the feeling she rather enjoyed getting changed whilst looking at me over the top of her changing screens. Perhaps something to do with the Casanova blood running through her veins?
“Laydee,” she said, holding her hand out for me, with a twinkle in her eyes. Graciously I accept the dashing gondolier’s aid to step off the boat. She leant towards me feigning wanting to kiss me and whispered quickly, “Be ready with what you need. You’ll know when it happens.”
I don’t know what made me to it. Well, tell a lie, I do know what made me turn my head and give her a quick peck on her lips as I stepped onto the dock. It was wanting to see the look on her face. She wasn’t the only girl with a surprise up her sleeve.
I could always claim to be helping her with her disguise.
Eleven
Aboard the airship and back in our adjoining rooms I inform Sir Percival of her whispered instructions while changing into boots, jodhpurs, and deep-pocketed coat. I decide against taking my trusty umbrella as I’m aiming to take a much more offensive device.
“Will there be time to get into the cargo hold for our… devices?” I add.
Cries of the dockworkers come through the windows and I know that if Francesca is planning something she’ll have to do it rather smartly. We rush out (not forgetting to lock the doors) and along the narrow corridor to the rear of the airship where the nearest stairs are located.
Thankfully we don’t meet any crew whilst hurrying down two levels of the spiral stairs to the cargo hold, but feel the great airship begin to move.
Unladylike words enter my head when I see the locked door ahead of us.
In a sudden burst of athleticism Sir Percival runs straight at them and leaps into the air, hitting them feet-first, smashing them apart. The loud bang threatens to stop my heart, but the deafening noise seems to have been fortuitously masked by something similar from outside. Was this what Francesca was planning? Cries of confusion seem to be coming from both inside and outside the airship.
While Sir Percival picks himself up I head into the cargo hold, seeing the crates and large travel cases, with ropes holding them in place, outlined in faint purple. A dusty, wood and leather smell meets my nostrils.
“You can see, Miss Lovelady?” Sir Percival whispers from behind me.
Well of course I can!
Then it dawns on me that the room is in darkness, the only light is coming from behind Sir Percival. I almost cry out with joy, knowing that my strange aetheric sight is still with me!
“No time to waste!” I hastily reply, hoping it will distract him enough to forget to question me.
Desperately I hunt among the boxy shapes and see some glowing purple to my right. Quickly I head towards them. A hazy question forms in my mind - are they glowing because of what they contain, or because they are the ones I wish to find?